The Riddling Life Of Tom Riddle
by PrincessAmelie09
Summary: Before he blossomed into a snake-like creature, Lord Voldemort was something else entirely. Charming, astute and drop-dead handsome, Tom Riddle - the young wizard who charmed many with his charisma. This is his tale, before he became the Dark Lord.
1. Prelude

Prelude

Nineteen-year-old, newly wed Mary Cole knew something odd would happen that day the very minute she woke up in her thin mattress, her black eyes staring up at the peeling paint of the ceiling. Mary knew that it was New Year's Eve. However, she couldn't help feeling that something very, very odd and very, very dangerous was about to begin.

Yet, she got off the bed, tidied up her bed and immersed herself into running after naughty orphans, bathing newborns along with her fellow colleagues, and supervising how the wizened cook cooked something nice for a change, as it was New Year's Eve. But she still couldn't shake that something bad was going to happen.

That evening, while Mary was writing a letter to her mother, one of the older orphans, Rose entered in her room, looking rather tensed.

"Mrs. Cole, you'd better stop writing now." Rose said anxiously.

Mary looked up from her letter and shot a look of annoyance at Rose. "What is it now? Do you not see that I am writing a letter?"

"I can see that well, Mrs. Cole, but you'd better stop now." Rose said. "There's a woman down there, about to give birth in the Sitting Room."

"Why didn't you tell me before, you silly girl?" Mary got up from the old, hard chair. She threw away the pen and ran after Rose. Oh, what should they do now? What should they _do now_?

Finally, the two women reached the Sitting Room. Rose opened the door tentatively and Mary immediately clapped her hands around her ears. The shrill were issuing from a young, plain looking girl not older than herself. The girl was arranged on the sofa, surrounded by Mary's colleagues and the lazy mutt of a cook, her simple head resting on one of the cushions. It was a piteous sight. Mary did not want to see it; however, her mama's manners rang inside her head.

_Help those who are in need. _Mama's voice commanded. Mary took a deep breath and said:

"Call Dr. Wilbert, Rose. _Now_."

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><p>"How are you feeling?" Mary whispered to the young girl, who looked greatly weakened after giving birth to the child, who was surprisingly not crying.<p>

The girl glanced at Mary and then looked down at the bundle next to her in a painstakingly loving manner. Mary felt really sad for her. She instinctively stroked the girl's dull hair and whispered, "Don't worry, you are safe now."

"I hope he looks like his papa." The girl said softly. Mary privately agreed. That girl was no looker.

"Please... I request you one last thing." The girl said. "Please... name him Tom after his papa and Marvolo for my papa."

Mary looked over her shoulder, giving a quizzical look to Dr. Wilbert, who just shrugged. Was the girl lying on the sofa from the circus? Her clothes were a maid's nightmare and she –

"Please, put his surname as Riddle." The girl said. She shuddered, exhaled her last breath and her eyes became lifeless.

"She died!" Mary exclaimed. Mary had never seen anyone die in her life. This was such a weird experience. Just utter a few words and escape from life! So simple! And Mary had always thought Death would give pain while a person would die.

"Take the child away." Dr. Wilbert said, grieved. Mary knew that he was upset. She knew it too well that he was upset that one of his patients – even if the patient hadn't paid – had died in front of his very eyes.

So wordlessly, Mary took the bundle of clothes in her arms, cajoling the baby and taking him away to the room where the infants resided. The room was dark and still. It smelled strongly of pee, which Mary skilfully ignored and rested the baby Tom Marvolo Riddle in one of the spare cribs, surprisingly, kissing his forehead with her numb lips. She left the room, not knowing that baby Tom was smiling. He was not smiling an ordinary smile, but a malicious smile and a little gleam in his dark eyes. Oh, how this baby was different from its roommates!

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><p><strong>AN:- This is the darkest thing I have ever written, I tell you. Review :) **


	2. Chapter One: The Queer Professor

The Queer Professor

Years had passed by as quickly as one flicked through pages. Mary Cole had blossomed into a mature woman whose hair had turned white by taking care of all the boisterous orphans. Correction: Mary Cole's hair had turned white because of _one_ orphan, Tom Marvolo Riddle.

Eleven years old and already Tom had the makings of a nasty individual. As it is, he rarely cried when he was an infant. Now, he made the other children cry. Billy Stubbs had found his rabbit hanging on the orphanage's rafters the very day after he had an argument with Tom. Dennis Bishop and Amy Benson were never the same when the orphans had been taken to a seaside picnic. What was the reason of all of this? Why, Tom Riddle was.

Presently, Tom Riddle was in his room, seated on top of the grey blankets of his bedstead, reading _Oliver Twist_, his long legs stretched out in front of him.

Tom ran his fingers through his silky dark hair as he thought on how different he was. Correction: How _special_ he was. Tom smiled as the word 'special' crossed his brilliant mind. People like him – smart and special – did not belong to this dingy orphanage. They belonged elsewhere. Some place where they appreciated a special person, that's where Tom belonged. A safe place where people were like him, a place where people like him scented the true smell of belonging... that's what Tom yearned for the most.

Most children in the orphanage had normal parents who had either abandoned them or died early. According to that awful Mrs. Cole, Tom's mother was from the _circus_. The very thought of it made Tom shudder. Circus people were fools. What tricks they did were like a child's play to Tom. Tom did much greater stuff than those circus hooligans.

He had special talents… he could converse with snakes, he could very easily gain prized possessions from the other children and he had something different in him. He –

Someone rapped at his door twice. Before Tom could utter something such as, 'Get out!' the door opened and Mrs. Cole stood at the doorway along with a man with auburn beard and hair and wore a flamboyantly cut suit of plum velvet. The man was tall, thin with a crooked nose and electric blue eyes that penetrated right into you. His nose might once have been very handsome, but Tom had a feeling that somebody must have punched it to make it go crooked.

He narrowed his black eyes as he found this man's appearance rather bizarre. It was as though this attire did not suit him fine. Tom reckoned that something else suited him. Something more _unusual_...

"Tom? You've got a visitor. This is Mr. Dumberton – sorry, Dunderbore. He's come to tell you – well, I'll let him do it."

"How do you do, Tom?" The tall thin man said, stepping inside, approaching Tom and holding out his hand. His hand, Tom noted, was long and thin.

Tom hesitated, narrowed his eyes again to judge the odd man's appearance one more time and then slowly held out his hand to shake it with the man. Mrs. Cole closed the door, looking slightly warily at the funny fellow. The said funny fellow took Tom's wooden chair and sat down on it, his penetrating blue eyes rapt in attention. Tom felt a bit stupid. It was as though the pair of them were like a patient and a doctor. As though Tom were the patient and Mr. Dumb-Whatever-Else-There-In-His-Name was the doctor –

Realization hit him with as much speed as a bullet shooting out of a gun. That mad, cracked up, whacked out Mrs. Cole had called for a doctor! A mental physician to be precise! The hatred for Mrs. Cole intensified in Tom's stomach. After this doctor left, Tom would make sure to use his special abilities and... _Kill _the older woman.

Did I not tell you? Tom Marvolo Riddle had the makings of a nasty individual.

"I am Professor Dumbledore." The man said.

"'Professor'?" Tom repeated suspiciously. This man's words only firmed Tom's beliefs about a mental doctor. "Is that like 'doctor'? What are _you_ here for? Did _she_ get you in to have a look at me?"

His tone had turned defensive. Narrow-minded Mrs. Cole would never understand the extents of Tom Riddle's speciality. Tom knew it as he pointed to the door, glaring at it piercingly.

"No, no," Professor Dumbledore said, smilingly.

"I don't believe you!" Tom said. "She wants me to be looked at, doesn't she? _Tell the truth_!"

Tom expected the bizarre Professor Dumbledore to look aggravated or angry, but the man kept on smiling. Tom stopped glaring at him and asked in a lower voice, "Who _are_ you?"

"I have told you. My name is Professor Dumbledore and I work at a school called Hogwarts. I have come here to offer you a place in my school – your new school, if you would like to come." Professor Dumbledore gave Tom another smile.

Tom leapt from his bed and backed away from Professor Dumbledore, completely furious. He burst out, "The asylum! That's where you're from, isn't it? Professor! Yes of course – I'm not going, see? The old cat's the one who should be in the asylum. I never did anything to little Amy Benson or Dennis Bishop, and you can ask them, they'll tell you!"

If they did not tell the 'truth', then Tom would do something that he would never regret.

Tom Riddle was a boy who calculated his every single move and according to him, no move he made would be a move he would regret in the years to come.

"I'm not from the asylum." Professor Dumbledore said. "I am a teacher and, if you wish to sit down calmly, I shall tell you about Hogwarts. Of course, if you would rather not come to the school, nobody will force you –"

"I'd like to see them try," Tom sneered.

"Hogwarts," Professor Dumbledore went on, as though he had not heard Tom's last words, "is a school for people with special abilities –"

"I'm not mad!" Tom said. Fury coiled and uncoiled in his stomach like a writhing snake. Tom couldn't believe the nerve of Mrs. Cole! How dare she put him in an asylum? He felt like he could just... he could just murder that woman –

"I know that you're not mad. Hogwarts is not a school for mad people. It is a school of magic."

Tom stopped uttering all the words that he was about to speak. He stared hard into those penetrating blue eyes, trying to find whether that man was lying or not.

"_Magic_?" Tom whispered.

"That's right," Professor Dumbledore said simply.

"It's... it's magic, what I can do?" Tom asked, seeking confirmation. His heart started beating faster, he felt breathless, eager to know more about those special abilities he had.

"What is it that you can do?" Professor Dumbledore said. There was something like curiosity in his voice. Tom couldn't help perking up at that.

"All sorts," Tom said breathlessly. He felt excited, eager as he said, "I can make things move without touching them. I can make animals do what I want them to do, without training them! I can make bad things happen to people who annoy me!"

He felt a bit proud when he told the man before him about his abilities. His legs were shaking as he stumbled onto the bed. He stared at his long, thin hands, his head lowered to mutter a quick prayer to God.

Tom Riddle was not a believer in God. He detested going to the church and reading the Bible. He had often scorned at the belief that some inhuman force had created this horrible world. Probably, it was because of all the resentment he had to suffer in the orphanage. If such a supreme force existed, then would He not have been a bit fairer towards orphans like Tom? Why did He take away Tom's mother and left him, Tom Riddle, in this dingy orphanage?

"I knew I was different." Tom finally said, his voice softer than before. For the first time in the short eleven years of his life, Tom saw that his voice was shaking. His fingers were dancing like the spiders hidden at the corners of his room. "I knew I was special. Always, I knew there was something."

Tom couldn't help being delighted at the prospect of being something special. Being different, standing out from the crowd of runty orphans was what Tom often aimed at. Moreover, it explained a lot about he was different, how he had killed Billy Stubbs' rabbit and disposed that pathetic white little thing on the orphanage's rafters. He remembered all the dark stuff he had done in front of Dennis Bishop and Amy Benson in that cave…

"Well, you were quite right."

Dumbledore's voice broke Tom away from his reverie. Tom looked up to see Dumbledore's electric blue eyes staring at him, the intensity making Tom feel a bit uncomfortable.

Yet, Tom couldn't let this mar his happiness. He immediately asked his next query:

"Are you a wizard to?"

"Yes, I am." Dumbledore said, his eyes never really leaving Tom's.

Tom could not figure out whether this man was lying or not. Yet, the next words spilling out of his handsome mouth were:

"Prove it," He hissed. He was pleased to note that, despite receiving such delightful news, he still had that commanding edge to his voice.

As was the case before, Dumbledore did not rebuke him. Instead, he raised his eyebrows and said, "If, as I take it, you are accepting your place at Hogwarts –"

"Of course I am!" Tom blurted out.

"Then you will address me as 'Professor' or 'sir'."

For a second, Tom could not help feeling affronted as such a request. He was not a person who gave any respect to anyone. He was the one who demanded respect.

However, this strange man had a powerful aura about him, something which Tom was not sure of.

Immediately, he added, being a bit more polite than before, "I'm sorry, sir. I meant – please, Professor, could you show me –?"

His mouth had a disgusting aftertaste as soon as the words 'sir' and 'professor' tumbled out.

Fortunately, his polite persuasion seemed to have worked. Dumbledore took out a long piece of wooden stick from the depths of the outrageous clothes he was dressed in. He pointed the stick at Tom's old wardrobe, which contained all of Tom's trophies, possessions. He flicked it and instantaneously, the wardrobe burst into flames.

Tom couldn't help jumping to his feet. He could not care less if this man turned out to be the lord of the entire universe. All he felt was a huge vessel of boiling rage bubbling inside his stomach. His trophies… his joys… his victories… all of it was –

Not gone.

The flames vanished as quickly as they had arrived. The wardrobe was not charred. In fact, it looked as ancient as ever. The scratches which Tom had made during the last Christmas when he was locked in here, were still there. The entire wardrobe was intact and so were his possessions.

Tom's eyes shifted Dumbledore. He couldn't help feeling fascinated, at the same time a bit greedy when his gaze fell onto Dumbledore's wand.

"Where can I get one of them?" Tom blurted out, unable to contain his excitement.

"All in good time," Dumbledore chided. His eyes flickered over to the wardrobe. "I think there is something trying to get out of your wardrobe."

Tom's eyes turned to the wardrobe. He could hear the sounds of muffled rattling from within it, as though something wished to see the outside world. Tom could not help feeling afraid. Had this man found out that all of Tom's possession weren't won through honest means?

"Open the door," Dumbledore ordered.

Tom hesitated and approached the wardrobe door. On reaching, he threw it open. Perched on the top shelf, above his clothes, was his cardboard box – _his treasure chest_, he liked to call it in private. It shook as though it contained an army full of rodents scampering to get out of it.

"Take it out." Dumbledore ordered again.

Reluctantly, Tom took out the trembling box. He felt all the careful confidence he had built to impress Dumbledore fade quickly.

"Is there anything in that box that you ought not to have?" Dumbledore asked carefully.

Tom whirled around, his mind working at the speed of a million miles an hour. He couldn't help but wonder how this man, without moving as much as a muscle could find out about his prizes. One look at the face and Tom instantly realized something.

This man wasn't someone to fool around with. He had a brain which Tom couldn't have in thousands of years and to cap it off, he was a _wizard_. Even (he hated to admit this) though he knew hardly anything about magic, Tom knew that brilliance along with magical powers was one dangerous combination. However, Tom couldn't help wondering if Mrs. Cole, that vulgar woman, had blurted everything out to Dumbledore.

Yes, that must be it. Or else, how could this man know so much?

Surely, he was not that powerful.

Or was he?

"Yes, I suppose so, sir," Tom said, still experiencing the thoroughly bitter aftertaste. His voice was stiff. He could not afford to give away the truth, especially not now, when this man was offering him a once-in-a-lifetime-opportunity to break away from this vortex.

"Open it."

Gingerly, Tom took off the weathered lid and tipped the contents onto his bed. He could not bear to look at them, especially not now.

"You will return them to their owners with your apologies," Dumbledore said, his voice as calm as ever. He pocketed his wand and added, "I shall know whether it has been done. And be warned: Thieving is not tolerated at Hogwarts."

Unlike others, who would feel extremely ashamed at the prospect of being caught, Tom was not really feeling ashamed. He was more concerned with the fact whether he would be able to join Hogwarts or no.

"Yes sir," Tom said dully.

"At Hogwarts," Dumbledore went on, "we teach you not only to use magic, but to control it. You have – inadvertently, I am sure – been using your powers in a way that is neither taught nor tolerated at our school. You are not the first, nor will you be the last, to allow your magic to run away with you. But you should know that Hogwarts can expel students and the Ministry of Magic – yes, there is a Ministry – will punish lawbreakers still more severely. All new wizards must accept that, in entering our world, they abide by our laws."

This seemed like torture, to live in a controlled, law-abiding atmosphere. It was kind of like the orphanage, only with the freeness to exercise magic.

Even at the age of eleven, Tom was quite skilled at keeping a poker face. He tossed the contents of the objects he had stolen back into the cardboard box. When he was done, he turned to Dumbledore and said, "I haven't got any money."

That was true, it made him all the more miserable. Whenever they went out to carnivals, Tom could not help but feel venomous hatred towards all the sheltered children with their posh mummies and busy daddies, filthily rich and – happy.

He resented it when others were happy when he, Tom Riddle, was not.

Life really was unfair.

"That is easily remedied," Dumbledore said, breaking Tom out of his reverie. He took out a leather pouch from his pocket. "There is a fund at Hogwarts for those who require assistance to buy books and robes. You might have to buy some of your spellbooks and so on secondhand, but –"

"Where do you buy spellbooks?" Tom demanded. He had snatched the pouch from Dumbledore's hand and he was now examining a big fat gold coin. It was really shiny and for someone like Tom, for whom wealth meant a set of yo-yos and little thimbles, staring at this coin was a very funny experience altogether.

If only he became as rich as that…

"In Diagon Alley," Dumbledore answered. "I have your list of books and school equipment. I can help you find everything –"

"You're coming with me?" Tom asked, looking up from the huge golden coin.

"Certainly, if you –"

"I don't need you," Tom said, point-blank. "I'm used to doing things for myself. I go round London on my own all the time. How do you get this Diagon Alley – sir?"

Tom felt that Dumbledore would have been offended, so he added the word 'sir'. Who wouldn't? Adults were very stuck-up and proud. They would often insist on coming with him, so that he wouldn't be lost. Or maybe, because they wanted to keep a guard on him – Tom hated the fact that he was mistrusted even amongst the adults!

Instead of insisting to come with him like any ordinary adult would do, Dumbledore handed the letter to Tom and started telling him how get to the Leaky Cauldron, a pub from the orphanage. Tom listened to his every word with rapt attention.

"You will be able to see it, although Muggles around you – non-magical people, that is – will not. Ask for Tom the barman – easy enough to remember, as he shares your name –"

There it was again. He hated being reminded constantly of the fact that Tom was a common name. As it is, there were five Toms in the orphanage and everywhere you looked around, you wuld find another Tom. More than the population of the whole world, the population of the boys with name 'Tom' was increasing. According to Mrs. Cole, Tom's mother had insisted on naming him Tom after his father.

Stupid woman, Mrs. Cole was. Tom wondered if his father was –

"You dislike the name 'Tom'?"

Dumbledore's voice broke him out of his reverie again.

"There are a lot of Toms," Tom muttered, inwardly cursing himself for making that fact obvious. He was supposed to be impressing this man, not making him think that he, Tom Riddle was a spoilt brat.

Before Dumbledore could add anything, Tom could not help but ask, "Was my father a wizard? He was called Tom Riddle too, they've told me."

"I'm afraid, I don't know." Dumbledore said gently.

"My mother can't have been magic, or she wouldn't have died," Tom said to himself. He had to find out about his heritage. "It must've been him."

Tom looked up into Dumbledore's penetrating blue eyes and inquired, "So – when I've got all my stuff – when do I come to this Hogwarts?"

"All the details are on the second piece of the parchment in your envelope." Dumbledore said. "You will leave from King's Cross Station on September the first. There is a train ticket in there too."

Tom nodded. After getting up from the chair, Dumbledore held out his hand again. Tom took it and added, "I can speak to snakes. I found out when we've been to the country on trips – they find me, they whisper to me. Is that normal for a wizard?"

Tom wanted to impress him badly, especially after he had messed up with the whole 'I-hate-my-name' tantrum. But Dumbledore hesitated, as if he was debating whether talking to snakes was good or bad.

Finally, the man said, "It is unusual, but not unheard of."

Tom got the feeling that Dumbledore was trying make his tone normal but he could feel those electric blue orbs searching his face. For a moment, they were standing there, staring at each other. Then, the handshake was broken.

Dumbledore walked to the door and before leaving, he said, "Good-bye, Tom. I shall see you at Hogwarts."

After he shut the door, Tom hastily tore it apart to find a letter and a list of his school things:

_Hogwarts School Of Witchcraft And Wizardry _

Headmaster: Armando Dippet

_(Order Of Merlin, First Class; Formerly the Head Of The Magical Law Enforcement Department) _

_Dear Mr. Riddle, _

_We are pleased to inform that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School Of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment. _

_Term begins on 1__st__ September. We await your owl by no later than 31__st__ July. _

_Yours sincerely, _

_Philomena Smith, _

_Deputy Headmistress,_

He flipped the page to find the list of all the coursebooks and equipment he would need and when he saw the ticket, he couldn't help but exclaim, "How very absurd!"

The platform where the train Hogwarts Express would arrive was called platform number nine and three quarters. As far as Tom knew, King's Cross Station did not have such a platform.

Tom shrugged that thought off. A lot of funny stuff was going around right now. A platform with an absurd number was something he was now ready to believe.

_It will be a bit challenging to trace such a platform _Tom thought. _Challenging, but not impossible. _

He would have to follow a set of magic people who were going to Hogwarts when he reached the station. He wondered how they would be like. Would the witches be having ingrown toenails? Would the wizards be wearing pointy hats? Would their children look equally weird?

Before Tom could think further, Rufus, one of the older orphans (and he had a very nasty attitude), rang out shrilly, "IT'S TIME FOR LUNCH! GET YOUR LAZY BUMS OFF YOUR BEDS AND COME DOWN HERE!"

He stowed his letter and ticket inside his cupboard quickly. He left his room, not before locking it firmly and checking if some thief was around to steal his letter.

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><p><strong>AN: Hey there, it's been a year (or more), since I updated. I was pleased with the response of the prelude.**

**I agree, I could have started with Tom bullying those kids and kept this chapter as the second chapter. But I felt like I could start from this place. Because in the sixth book, we see this memory first (of Tom Riddle, I mean)... so I felt like I could start with this as a benchmark. ****Of course, there's more to come. I believe, you might think Tom would be a bit out of character, but it's completely fine by me. He's just a eleven-year-old and a very bitter one at that. He has no one in this world and since he's a wizard, he's out of place in the Muggle orphanage. So you see, I had to make him a bit nasty.**

**You might also observe that most of this chapter has almost the same wordings as the book. It's justifiable because Dumbledore sees everything with an impartial eye. The only adjustments I've added are justifying Tom's thoughts as to why he reacted like this, why he reacted like that. **

**The main reason I want to continue this fic is to understand the character's psychology. Harry Potter series has some of the best characters, like Snape and Voldemort. So yeah, I wanted to explore stuff like, _Why doesn't he fall in love? _and_ Is he impassive to hot girls? or Why does he do that action? _and_ Why is he so proud? _**

**Because no matter how proud or unloving a person is, there's always some funny reason behind it. **

**I hope you like this. Please review, lend me your opinions, correct my flaws, and if you liked this, follow and add it to your favourites. Also, if you loved my "oh-so-fantastic" writing skills, go through my other works (Which are as psychotic as I am). **

**Thanks for reading, **

**Amelie, :-) **


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